Voyeur
by Irrepressable
Summary: The Doctor watches Clara do something unexpected through a crack in her bedroom door. Parroverse


**beyondobsessed asked for a sequel to** _ **Dirty Beak**_ **where Clara tries on her negligee. I thought about it. I knew that it would be at least T-rated. I thought long and hard about whether or not I would include explicit content. There would be no direct nookie because this takes place after** _ **Dirty Beak**_ **but before** _ **Heated**_ **. There will be no actual sex until** _ **Heated**_ **. Still, copulation or no copulation, this should be an interesting fic. So, my dear readers, I present** _ **Voyeur**_ **.**

It was midnight and officially Thursday. The Doctor hadn't shown up on Wednesday. That had irked Clara somewhat. She couldn't believe it, but she had been bored all day. Now she couldn't sleep. So she was lying in bed, her mental track of mind going something like 'boredboredboredboredboredboredbored'. Finally, she got out of bed. She would try to find something to do until she got tired. Clara glanced around her room, looking for something that would inspire her. She spotted two things: her CD player/radio and a CD that had been given to her last birthday by an old friend from university. That friend was an American studying abroad. The CD was a Pink album. So, Clara put the CD in her CD player and started playing it. Okay, she was slightly less bored, but she still wasn't having enough fun. Then she remembered something her friend had said in an email: anything can become more exciting when you put on something interesting. Clara didn't have many interesting outfits in her flat. Except...

Clara looked at a box in the corner. She thought about its contents. The garments inside were certainly 'interesting'. She thought about it for a while before deciding, sure, why not? There was no one else here to see her in it. She walked over to the box and opened it. She then removed the items inside: a sheer, diaphanous red babydoll top with padded cups and a matching red G-string. Clara quickly removed her bedclothes and donned the negligee. She snatched a hairbrush off of her dresser. She turned up the music. It was loud enough that she didn't hear the groaning, wheezing sound of the TARDIS materializing outside of her block of flats.

oooooooooooooooooo

For a Time Lord, the Doctor didn't have the best timing. Some might accuse him of being a shit driver. As such, he was very late for meeting Clara. It was very late at night. Midnight, in fact. It was technically Thursday. Still, maybe Clara could squeeze an adventure in. It had helped that the Doctor was in a better place, mentally, than he had been before. He had finally managed to get the mental image of Clara in that scanty red negligee out of his head. With that in mind, he went up to Clara's flat. This time, her door was locked. Slipping on his sonic shades, the Doctor activated them and used them to unlock the door. Without a further thought, the Doctor opened the door and let himself in. Once he was inside, the sound of music filled his ears. Some of it was playing on a device of the some sort. The other was an ever so slightly out of tune voice singing along. It sounded like it was coming from Clara's bedroom. She was probably in there, dancing around in something flannel. The Doctor didn't really think of Clara's privacy when he started opening her bedroom door. When he saw what was inside, he quickly closed the door. Well, it wasn't fully closed. It was open just a crack. He was breathing hard, pressed against the wall. The sound didn't change. He realized with great relief that Clara, because her music was so loud, hadn't heard him open the door and hadn't seen him because her back was to the door. Suddenly, the Doctor felt compelled by some force that he couldn't explain or understand. Nothing was controlling him. He was just... compelled. Quietly, he moved back over to the door to peek in through the crack. The song had changed and Clara was still singing along with it. When Clara moved just so, the Doctor got a very, very good view of her behind. The G-string that she was wearing left very, very little to the imagination. The Doctor's trousers suddenly felt much tighter. That was definitely a surprise to him. For the first time in centuries, the Doctor had an unintentional hard-on. Well, it wasn't really the first time in centuries. He'd had a few recently when thoughts of his companion in this particular outfit came to mind. Not every time the thought came to mind, but certainly enough to be very noticeable. Noticeable to him, not to Clara. Watching his companion prancing around in practically nothing filled the Doctor with certain urges. One of them was the urge to drop to his knees and unzip his trousers. Of course, he didn't give into that urge. Had he not been in control of his inhibitions, he might have even gone into Clara's room. The Doctor just stood there, painfully hard, as he watched Clara.

ooooooooooooooooooo

When the album ended, Clara was left with nothing to do. Absolutely nothing. She removed the CD from the CD player and put it back into its case and set the hairbrush back down on her dresser. She sighed and sat down on the edge of her bed. She rested her hands on her lap. Her lap that wasn't really covered by anything. The only thing that concealed her genitals, even if only barely, was the G-string. These clothes were meant to be sexy. They were meant to be sensual, even erotic. Erotic meant sex. Sex would be a good way to tire herself out while killing time. She had no one to have sex with. There was only her. At that thought, she paused to think about it a little more. Only her. She could pleasure herself. She was a modern woman who knew what she wanted, and it had been a while. She definitely wanted it. Besides, if she couldn't make herself orgasm, what chance did anyone else have? A smile lit up her face. She slid herself across her bed, lying horizontally on it. With a deep sigh, she slid her G-string off and flung it across the room, where it landed near the door. Clara then lifted her hands to touch her body. She caressed her torso before settling her hands on her breasts. She massaged them, periodically tweaking a nipple. She sighed out a soft, "Mmmm."

One hand still on her breast, she slid her hand down her body before resting it between her legs. She was a little damp, but nowhere near where she wanted to be. Gently, he ran her fingers across her slit. That felt good. She stopped at her clitoris. She gently brought two fingers on it. She pressed down on it, letting out a soft sigh. She then began to move her fingers, gently rubbing it. That felt very good. She placed an image in her mind, a faceless male touching her. Gradually, as she grew wetter and wetter, she increased the speed and pressure of her movements. A series of soft moans were flowing from her mouth. She felt a familiar spring curling, tightening in her abdomen. She increased her speed again, stroking herself faster and faster until, finally, that spring released. She let out a cry of ecstacy, arching her back dramatically. She then lay flat against her bed, panting. That had been wonderful, but she still wasn't fully sated and she was still _incredibly_ wet. Once she had caught her breath a little more, she returned one hand to a breast, squeezing it, as she lowered her other hand to between her legs. She spread her legs and began stroking herself again, but she needed something else. She adjusted her hands slightly, leting them hover over her entrance before, without the slightest hesitation, plunging them in. She let out a throaty moan. As she repeatedly penatrated herself with her fingers, she tried to picture the same faceless male sliding in and out of her. It was good. It was so good. She was moaning again. To her surprise, a face began to form on the faceless male that was fucking her. It was a famliar face. It was a face that she hadn't expected, one with blue-grey eyes and very conspicuous eyebrows. Oh god. But she couldn't stop. She kept going. She kept touching herself to that image.

oooooooooooooooooo

The Doctor was rather disappointed when Clara stopped dancing around in that scanty little outfit. When she flopped down on her bed, the Doctor expected her to go to sleep in her negligee. Then she slipped the undergarment off, revealing her concealed charms. The Doctor adjusted his position, trying to get more comfortable, but the friction between his tip and his trousers made things rather difficult. He clenched his eyes shut, breathing deeply. When he heard a soft "Mmmm", he opened his eyes to see Clara clutching one of her breasts with one hand before lowing her hand to the junction between her legs and letting out a pleased-sounding sigh. The Doctor saw Clara begin to move her arm as she touched herself. Oh my. She was touching herself. Unbidden, the mental image of himself touching her appeared, unbidden, in the Doctor's mind. He shook his head, willing it to go away, but there it was again. As Clara's arm moved faster and faster, moans tearing from her throat, the Doctor couldn't bring himself to move from his spot. Finally, Clara's moans reached a crescendo, her arm moving faster than ever, and she let out a cry of pleasure as she reached her completion. The Doctor slapped his hand over his mouth to muffle a sigh of relief. Finally, Clara was done. The Doctor closed his eyes. Now that Clara was done, he could bring himself to leave. He closed his eyes. Then he heard another moan. Clara was pleasuring herself again. The Doctor couldn't take it. Not a second time. He quietly unbuckled his belt and slid his fly open before pulling himself free of his trousers. He gripped his length and began to stroke it, watching as Clara pleasured herself. Once again, a mental image came to his mind. In his pleasure-hazed mind, an image of Clara lying beneath him with him being the one thrusting into her. As Clara's moans grew louder and louder, the Doctor pumped his length into his hand, increasing the speed of his movements. He was so. Damn. Close. Suddenly, Clara arched her back and cried out, "Doctor!"

The Doctor slapped his hand over his mouth, muffling a moan, his knees nearly buckling as he climaxed, coating his hand and the floor with his seed. He panted quietly, his legs trembling. He looked back into Clara's room to see that she was panting as well. Slowly, her panting slowed to normal breathing before changing to the even breathing of sleep. The Doctor then looked down at the mess that he had made. With his clean hand, he removed a handkerchief from one of his coat pockets to wipe clean his hands and the floor. The TIme Lord then quietly left. When he reached the TARDIS, he was still trembling. He quietly opened the door, stepped in, and closing it. He hurried to his bathroom to wash his hands. Once his hands were cleaned of the remnants of what he had done in Clara's flat, he dried them on a towel before leaving for the console room. He let out a deep sigh before pressing a buttions and pulling a lever, dematerializing the TARDIS and heading back into the vortex. What had happened in Clara's flat was something that the Doctor had never expected to see, but it was also something he would never forget.


End file.
